


more than words

by DetectiveRiley (RavenWhitecastle)



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Big Bang Challenge, F/M, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Light Angst, Love Triangles, M/M, Multi, Not Canon Compliant, PoI Big Bang, Polyamory, Romantic Soulmates, Self-Esteem Issues, Soulmates, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:34:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27562366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenWhitecastle/pseuds/DetectiveRiley
Summary: John and Harold have a lot in common. They've loved. They've lost. They've done their best to help people. And now they have a matching pair of soulmarks- tattoos bearing the first words your soulmate says to you. Things get complicated when old marks fade and new ones appear. The marks aren't what bring John and Harold together. But they might end up tearing the two of them apart.
Relationships: Harold Finch/Grace Hendricks/John Reese
Comments: 6
Kudos: 22
Collections: Person of Interest Big Bang 2020





	1. Part 1

Everyone has a soulmate. At eighteen, the first words your soulmate says to you appear, elaborately tattooed, on your skin. You spend your life listening for those words, looking for that someone.

When you finally hear those words, when you find that person that connects you to the rest of the world, everything seems to fall into place. You become someone different. Someone better. When that person is taken from you…

What do you become then?

When John Reese’s soulmate was taken from him, he became something very different from the person he had once been. He hadn’t just left Jessica, he had _lost_ her. She was gone. His soulmark bearing the first words she’d said to him was gone, and there was next to nothing left of the man she had loved.

In the midst of his dark thoughts, something entered John’s consciousness. Some thugs were facing off down towards the end of the subway car. Not his business. Tuning out their voices, John started to drift again. 

He heard them again as they got closer. “Relax,” the youngest one was saying, “We’re picking up new hardware next week.”

They got closer. The younger one caught John’s gaze and smirked. “Besides, when we take the car, we don’t get to meet new friends. Like this guy.”

The kid reached out to take John’s bottle. John’s grip tightened. That whiskey was the only thing keeping him from thinking about Jess, about the mark on his chest. He wasn’t about to let it go to some dropout with a cheap piece and a cheaper haircut.

After a few seconds, the kid let go, and took a step back, glaring. “You didn’t bring enough for the whole group,” he snarled. “I have to teach you about sharing.”

When one of the thugs made a move, John’s training kicked in. He disabled all of his assailants with ease. Even intoxicated. It was what had made him such a valuable asset to the government. But John had learned, too late, that there were more important things.

The fight was over almost as quickly as it had begun. With the thugs all crumpled on the ground around him, John took a moment to regain his bearings. Breathing heavily, he noticed a security camera up in the corner.

With a sigh, John took out another bottle.

~

Harold Finch was anxiously awaiting the arrival of his latest investment. He couldn’t call Mr. Reese a recruit just yet, since they hadn’t met and thus hadn’t agreed to anything. Harold could only hope that his instincts were right, and that the man he had just bailed out of prison would want to help.

The car pulled up at the river bank, and all of its passengers stepped out. The one Harold was waiting for didn’t look like much, all scruffy haired and patchwork clothing. But Harold knew that there was more to Mr. Reese than met the eye.

The man spoke as he approached. “Do I… owe you money? ‘Cause I’m, uh… running a little short at the moment.”

Harold’s heart skipped. Those words. He knew them by heart, but he was never sure what circumstances to expect them in. 

With a lump in his throat, Harold replied, “You don’t owe me anything, Mr. Reese.”

The phrase didn’t seem to resonate. Mr. Reese looked at him blankly. Was Harold wrong? Or did their marks not coincide with the other’s? It was possible, a one in a million chance…

Pressing on, Harold sternly reminded himself why he was there, why they were both there. “That’s the name you prefer, isn’t it? I know you’ve had several.” Harold looked again to see if Mr. Reese had any notion of what had just occurred. It appeared not. “Don’t worry,” Harold added, “I’m not gonna tell anybody about you.”

Mr. Reese studied him, his face unreadable. After a moment, he replied, “You don’t know anything about me.”

Harold looked away, concluding that either Mr. Reese was going to say nothing about the words exchanged, or that he knew nothing. “I know exactly everything about you, Mr. Reese.”

Mr. Reese watched Harold carefully. And Harold might have been afraid, if he didn’t have the upper hand. 

“I know about the work you used to do for the government. I know about the doubts you came to have about that work. I know that the government, along with everybody else, thinks you’re dead.”

Taking a step toward Harold, Mr. Reese glared. Harold wondered for a brief moment if that was what connected them, their lives both in limbo as they abandoned their identities. When the security detail he’d hired moved to intervene, Harold waved them off.

Harold’s voice grew softer, with Mr. Reese standing so close. “I know you’ve spent the last couple of months trying to drink yourself to death.” He studied the lines on Reese’s face, the shadows behind his eyes. “I know you’re contemplating more efficient ways to do it. So you see, knowledge is not my problem. Doing something with that knowledge… that’s where you’d come in.”

When Harold looked at Reese again, the man had raised one unkempt eyebrow. “You can call me Mr. Finch.” Harold took a steadying breath. “I think you and I can help one another. I don’t think you need a psychiatrist or a support group, pills…”

“What do I need?” Reese asked sharply.

“You need a purpose.” Meeting Reese’s gaze, Harold felt his heart in his throat. “More importantly, you need a job.”

~

In the end, John had declined the man’s “job offer.” The so-called Mr. Finch had clearly been surprised when John had agreed to join him downtown, but John had only deigned to listen to the man’s elevator pitch before deciding that the woman, whoever she was, was clearly better off without him. But he couldn’t help but notice that Harold had seemed genuinely disappointed when he left.

Shaking the thought, John returned his attention to his grooming. He had decided to shave when he got home. He was careful as usual to avoid catching his reflection below the neck. He turned on the television instead, studying the police sketch of his previously bearded face on the news. He took another drink when he caught the shadow of the mark on his collarbone in the mirror, deciding to call it an early night.

He awoke to the phone next to his bed ringing, and his wrist zip tied to the headboard. Wincing, John lunged for the receiver. When he got it, he heard a familiar voice on the other end.

“You need to understand, Mr. Reese,” the voice said, “the information I have is incomplete, but it’s never wrong.”

The man from the day before- Mr. Finch.

“You need to know what it would be like to be forced to listen to someone get murdered, and not be able to do anything about it.”

Finch hung up, leaving John bewildered. If he really was a bored rich guy, he had a lot more free time on his hands than John had initially thought.

When he heard the sound of a scuffle, and a woman screaming in the next room, John leapt into action. He cut free in moments, bursting through the door into the next room and sprawling across the floor. But there was no murderer, just a speaker, and Mr. Finch reading a newspaper. 

Finch looked up when John came up behind him. “Too late,” he intoned, standing up, “This recording is three years old. A woman, murdered in this room by her husband, for the insurance.” Finch displayed the newspaper as proof. “You were too late for her, just like you were too late for your friend Jessica.”

At the mention of Jess, John felt a cocktail of rage and grief, bubbling up inside him. He seethed as Finch continued. 

“You were halfway around the world when she was killed.”

John leveled his eyes on Finch before he lunged forward, pinning the bespectacled man against the wall. “What the hell do you know about it?” John spat.

“What does it say?!” Finch sputtered.

John blinked. “What?”

Finch panted as John watched him with wide blue eyes. “Your soulmark, the words on your skin, the first words your soulmate says to you. What are they?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“It is,” Finch gasped, “Because you said mine.”

John stared as Finch lifted his arm, where John could presume his soulmark had probably appeared. “The first thing you said to me, on the river bank,” Harold explained. “It’s there.”

The words peeked out from beneath Finch’s sleeve. John pushed it up further. His heart skipped a beat when he saw the rest.

“Tell me what your soulmark says,” Finch murmured, “and if it isn’t what I replied… I’ll go.”

John took a step back, releasing Finch from the wall. Finch rubbed at his throat. John swallowed, his eyes wild. “I… I don’t know.”

He turned away, feeling Finch’s eyes on his back. “You don’t know?” Finch echoed, “Do you have one?”

John nodded, tugging absentmindedly at the collar of his shirt. “Jessica… she was more than my friends. She was… she was my soulmate.” He felt his eyes well up at her memory. “But… I had to go, and when I did, I lost her. After she died, the mark faded. I couldn’t look at where it used to be- it hurt too much. But a few months later, I noticed something there.” He looked back towards Finch, who was watching him intently. “I never looked. I couldn’t. I felt like if I did… then I would be betraying her.”

Finch approached him. “I know it hurts. I relate more than you can possibly imagine, but this is about more than just me. I think all you ever wanted to do was protect people.”

John sank into the chair where Finch had been sitting before. “Does it matter what my soulmark says?”

Finch sat down across from him. “... I know that you left the government because they lied to you. So I never will. The truth is, I need your help regardless. But… if your soulmark does match, you are under no obligation to work for me. And if it doesn’t, we’ll never speak of it again.” Finch held his hands up in a gesture of peace. “The choice is yours.”

John simply studied Finch for a few moments. He seemed sincere, the furrow of his brow and the crease of his eyes were any indication. Taking a deep breath, John stood and approached the mirror in the hall. He looked at his reflection for a moment before he removed his shirt, revealing his collarbone and the words tattooed above it, in neat print, with what looked like ink blots scattered around it.

_“You don’t owe me anything, Mr. Reese.”_

Turning towards Finch, he said, “Looks like you were right.”

With a soft smile, Finch replied, “The point still stands, Mr. Reese. You _don’t_ owe me anything. But I’m offering you more than my soul. I’m offering you a chance to protect people. A chance to be there in time.”

Removing something from his jacket, Finch revealed a photo of the woman from before- Diane Hansen. “It was too late for Jessica. But it’s not too late for her.” Finch leaned forward, gazing into John’s eyes. “You could help me stop what’s about to happen. The question is, will you?”

John looked up. “And what about us? The marks, what about those?’

Harold straightened his cuff. “I’m afraid they’re going to have to wait.”

~

It turned out that saving the people whose numbers were up came naturally to John. With Harold, he fell into an easy rhythm of coming to the library every day to receive his new assignment. They’d stayed so busy that they hadn’t had a chance to talk about their soulmarks. They hid the words that bound them to each other under their suits. Out of sight, out of mind.

But even though they hadn’t talked about it, John felt a certain pull towards Harold. A pull that, to John’s surprise, Harold seemed determined to avoid. And maybe John wouldn’t have minded, if they weren’t connected in the manner that they were.

One day on the job, John had finally had enough of the secrecy, the dodging, the mind games. So he decided to speak up. He waited for a slow moment, while their target was enjoying her morning coffee.

“Harold?” he murmured.

“Hmmm?” On the other end of the line, it sounded as if Harold was in the middle of something. Good. Perhaps if he’d let his guard down if he was distracted.

“... What’s your favorite color?”

There was a pause on the other end. “Excuse me?”

“I know you like eggs benedict, and green tea. And you used to work in an office, at least. But outside of that…”

Harold sighed. “Is this in any way pertinent to our current case?”

John tensed. “... No.”

“Then why are we talking about it?”

“Because I want to know,” John answered, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “Despite what your paranoia is telling you, it really is an innocent question. Pinkie promise.”

John could practically hear Harold pursing his lips. “If it isn’t necessary for you to do your job, then this conversation can wait.”

“What if I’m tired of waiting?” John sighed. He wasn’t a petulant child, but Harold was making him feel like one. “We’re bound to each other, Harold. Don’t you think that gives me some right to know just a little bit about you?”

There was a thud, presumably Harold dropping a stack of books onto his desk. “Frankly, I’m not inclined to grant you that privilege. After you stunt at the office, in which you blatantly violated my privacy, I’m certain you can acquire whatever information you wish on your own.”

Clenching his jaw, John replied, “You didn’t really leave me much choice, Harold.”

“I beg your pardon!” Harold’s indignant tone struck John like a blow. “You had every choice, but you chose to go… _snooping_ around. Just because your soulmate-”

“She’s gone.”

“Yes, John, that’s my point.”

“No, Harold, our number. She’s gone.” John rushed to collect his gear and race down to the street. “She’s not in her office, where did she go?”

It turned out that she was about to be kidnapped, while John and Harold had been bickering. Her ex, the would-be criminal, had panicked and bolted, but didn’t get far. Thankfully, their number was returned unscathed.

The library was quiet when John returned. Harold was standing at the window with his arms crossed. He barely even blinked when John approached him.

Clearing his throat, John began, “I wasn’t sure you’d be here when I got back…”

Harold’s glare glued John to the spot. “I felt it was crucial that we had a discussion about boundaries.”

John bowed his head. “I’ll admit that my timing wasn’t… ideal,” he conceded, “but you have to acknowledge that no one would guess we were soulmates if they saw us in the street.”

After a moment, Harold sighed. “I suppose you’re right. I told you that the soulmark didn’t mean you were obligated to help me, but we never explicitly agreed to ignore it.” Harold stepped closer, his hands falling to his sides. “You weren’t entirely at fault. I could have been more communicative, but as you know, trust is…”

“Not something you come by easily.” John flashed Harold a playful smile. “You know, I hear that booze is a good social lubricant. Would you… join me for a drink?”

Harold seemed to soften. The hard set of his shoulders relaxed, and the furrow of his brow unwrinkled. “I’d love to.”

~

Harold had almost told John that he wasn’t much for alcohol- it impaired his judgment and further impeded his coordination and mobility. But John had been so earnest and so… Harold hesitated to use the word “cute,” but John really did have a puppy-like quality, when he wanted something. Either way, John was charming, and Harold appreciated his company.

They got a table at a quiet bar that was more of a lounge. Harold knew that John could pound a couple beers and still win all his money back at pool, but he must have thought that Harold would prefer somewhere a little more sophisticated, and he was right. Harold appreciated the wine selection and decor, and the classical music. He thought perhaps he ought to say as much.

“I like this place,” he said, out loud, “Classy.”

John briefly looked surprised. “Have you been here before?”

Harold shook his head. “No, but it’s nice.”

Across the table, John smiled into his drink. 

They spent a few minutes in silence, pretending to peruse the menu. Or at least, Harold was pretending. He preferred to study John over the top of the page. John looked very different now than he had when they’d met, and Harold couldn’t deny that he was… well, _pretty_. The cut of his jaw, the color of his eyes. Harold knew looks weren’t everything, but-

 _Oops._ John had caught him staring. Harold felt himself flush as he flagged down a waiter and ordered his drink and an appetizer. John ordered a whiskey and handed over the menu before smirking at Harold again.

“Something on your mind, Harold?”

 _Damnit._ Harold liked to believe he didn’t get flustered easily, John just had that effect on him. He decided to make an attempt at humor.

“I hope it’s alright that I ordered food,” he said, “since I’ll be footing the bill anyway.”

“I thought drinks would be my treat?”

Harold peered over his glasses. “And where does your paycheck come from?”

There was a short silence before they both started laughing. Harold felt something in his chest loosen. He hadn’t laughed, earnestly, in quite some time.

When the laughter faded, Harold spoke again. “I… wanted to apologize. I haven’t been the most… forthcoming.”

John tilted his head. “Especially considering how much you know about me.”

Harold flushed further. “Not just that.” Adjusting his glasses, he continued. “I know that our circumstances are unique, to say the least. But, if you’d let me, I’d like to try.”

To his relief, John didn’t tease him again. Instead, John put his hand on the table- an offering of reconciliation. “Gladly,” he said. There was a gleam of something in John’s eyes that Harold couldn’t place, something familiar yet strange. He would later realize it was joy.

Carefully, Harold took John’s hand, and John’s face broke into a grin. Harold lamented that he hadn’t seen that smile before, and swore that he would do whatever it took to see it again.

~

Life with Harold was good, better than John could have expected. John had to admit that it was nice to feel wanted again. For the first time in a long time, John was genuinely happy.

He was so happy that he had almost forgotten that they’d both had lives, before they’d met each other. He was out, getting Harold’s favorite tea, when a familiar sight caught his eye- a black and white shaded sketch of a school of koi fish. It was on the side of a truck making deliveries. John had seen a magazine with the same cover, sitting on Harold’s desk.

The truck dropped off a stack of the magazines on a brownstone doorstep, right across the street from where John was standing. John put the pieces together. The tea from Harold’s favorite coffee stand, the cover of the magazine. He could imagine that Harold had lived in the brownstone, reading the magazine over his tea in the morning.

Unable to ignore his curiosity, John crossed the street and climbed the steps. He glanced at the magazine pile once more to confirm his suspicion before rapping on the door.

Instead of Harold, however, a red-haired woman came to the door. She was beautiful, with jade green eyes and a pretty smile. But she wasn’t what John was expecting.

“Can I help you?” the woman prompted, after a moment’s silence.

John decided to improvise. “Sorry to bother you,” he said, digging in his pocket for his badge, “Detective Stills. Someone reported a disturbance at this address.”

“Really? I’m the only one here.”

 _Interesting._ “Probably just an old lady who saw a shadow or a kid playing a joke. We just have to check everything out.” He looked at the magazines again. “Do you want help with these?”

The woman looked genuinely surprised, but nodded anyway. “Sure. Thanks!”

John felt his heart flip flop in his chest. She was the kind of woman he would have asked on a date, if people did that sort of thing. He pushed the thought aside and entered the house.

“Must be about fifty copies here,” he observed, “You a collector?”

“Uh, kind of.” The woman chuckled lightly. “They send me extra when it’s one of mine.”

She gestured to the easel in the corner of the room, where there were more sketches of the same koi, shaded with watercolors. “You draw the covers.”

The woman continued, with her subtle southern accent. “Yeah, a bit old-fashioned, I know. Everything’s going digital, print is dying, but every time I think I’ll never work again, another magazine calls, so…” She shrugged, smiling. “Guess I have a guardian angel!”

John wanted to ask her more, wanted to listen to her talk about art for hours, until he saw the photo on the coffee table. Heart skipping, he looked closer. Yes, it was Harold, being kissed playfully on the cheek by the redhead before him.

“Who’s this?”

“Um… that’s, uh, Harold. My fiancé.”

John felt his stomach drop, but he didn’t let it show. “Looks like a nice guy,” he managed, keeping his poker face on.

“Yeah,” the woman said. Her voice cracked, almost imperceptibly. “A very nice guy. He, um… he really got me. Even though I spent most of my time along, drawing. I didn’t, uh… I wasn’t sure I’d ever find my soulmate that way. But Harold found me.”

John’s breath caught in his throat at the word “soulmate.” He almost told her to stop talking, but wanted, _needed_ to know the truth.

“I was painting in the park one day,” she said, “and there was this man, eating an ice cream cone. In January. And he smiled at me, and he asked if I wanted one.”

Her hand went to her midsection. John didn’t want to think of it, but his brain conjured up the image anyway, of a soulmark with Harold’s word in Harold’s handwriting tattooed on her porcelain skin.

Clearing his throat, he asked, “Does he, uh… live here? With you?”

The woman’s demeanor shifted, and she took the picture from his hands. “No, he doesn't. Um… he used to.” She paused, studying the photo, and John understood. The tea and the magazines, the limp, and Harold’s empathy for John’s own loss.

“I lost him two years ago. There was an accident.” She rubbed the edges of the picture frame for comfort, and John felt truly sorry for her. He had been there, in her shoes. Their stories were similar, and yet drastically different.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. He meant it.

She smiled at him gratefully. “You’ve been very kind,” she said. She sighed, shaking off her sorrow. “I’m sure you have better things to do, Detective.”

Remembering his initial lie, he nodded. “I’m glad to see everything’s in order here. Thank you.”

John felt different when he walked out the door. Of course Harold had a beautiful artist fiancé. Harold was good and wholesome, and better than John could ever be. Because John was jealous of both Harold and Grace, and he had no idea what to do about it.

Then he saw Harold, sitting on a bench in the square. John would have to figure it out.

~

John joined Harold on the bench in the plaza, looking sullen. They watched all the people bustling from one place to the next for a while. Harold decided he should speak first.

“I knew it would come to this,” he said, “eventually. You’re far too clever for your own good.”

John would have chuckled, if his heart didn’t hurt. “Were you ever planning on telling me yourself?”

“I knew I would have to. I know that I should have. But I wanted… I wanted to live in a world, for a while, where loving you didn’t mean abandoning her.”

John finally looked at him. “You didn’t abandon her. You’re here, aren’t you?’

Harold sighed, looking over his shoulder. “Not in the way she needs me to be.”

He stood, needing to stretch his leg, and to put some distance between him and his past. He was relieved when John followed, probably seeking answers.

“I’ve never regretted building the Machine,” Harold said, “But I didn’t fully realize the personal cost. I’m good with computers. People- well, people other than Grace, and you- have always been a mystery to me.”

 _Grace._ John rolled the name over in his mind, as Harold continued.

“I failed to recognize the lengths to which they would go to protect the Machine, to control it. By the time I realized it, it was too late.”

Harold paused, looking back in Grace’s direction. “For me. But not for her.”

John studied Harold. “You were protecting her.”

“I was protecting both of us. My soulmark faded when I faked my death, using the ferry bombing as a cover to escape. I can only assume that hers did, too. And perhaps, like me, she got a new one.” Harold clenched his jaw, his eyes turning cold. “A better one.”

John tried to ignore the heavy feeling in his chest, but he couldn't stop himself from replying, “You didn’t.”

Harold tilted his head. “What?”

“I met Grace,” John said, his voice thick, “and all I could think was, how could you love me after loving her?”

“... Oh, John.”

“You should go back.”

“You know that I can’t. Besides-”

“You need to.” John shook his head, fighting back tears. “She loves you, Harold. Your soulmate’s still there.”

Harold grabbed John’s hand. “My soulmate is right in front of me!” he exclaimed.

“I’m just a placeholder, Harold.”

“You don’t understand.” Harold placed himself in front of John, looking into his eyes. “I can’t go back. It’s too dangerous, it’s why my soulmark went away. I _can’t_ be with Grace.”

John nodded, swallowing. “But you still love her. Don’t you, Harold?”

Harold’s brain halted. What was he supposed to say? That he didn’t care for her? That he only checked up on her because she was his responsibility, and that she didn’t still make him feel something?

The silence was enough for John. Squeezing Harold’s shoulder, he murmured in his ear. “Be happy with Grace,” before brushing past Harold and walking away.

“I just… wanted her safe…” Harold stopped when he realized he was alone. John was gone, and Harold wasn’t sure he was ever coming back.

~

John had seen Jessica only one more time, at the airport. She’d called his name, and he almost hadn’t believed his eyes.

“I didn’t know you were back from over there,” she said. He watched her with awe. She was really real. “Where’s your uniform?” she asked.

“Um… I got a new job.”

Jessica smirked. “One of those jobs you can’t talk about?”

He chuckled. His heart felt warm again, until he noticed the engagement ring on her finger. She saw his face fall and allowed his gaze to the ring. “Oh, yeah, I… got engaged. I… I’m moving back East next month. His name’s Peter.”

“Peter,” he echoed. “Is he… did your…?”

The unasked question hung in the air. “Um… no,” she said, rubbing the back of her neck. John knew that just below, across her shoulders, were his first words to her. “Peter… he doesn't have a mark,” Jess explained, “But… well, you know how those things are.”

John managed a curt smile. “He’s a lucky guy.”

Jess’s smile faded. “I waited for you.”

“I didn’t ask you to.”

Pursing her lips, she said, “No. No, you didn’t. You just… left.” She laughed humorlessly. “Because you thought you’d get killed over there, and that that would hurt me.”

John gave her an earnest look. “People go crazy from losing their soulmate, Jess. Losing them like that.”

“No, I… I think the truth is that it was easier for you to be alone.”

“That’s one of the things you learn over there. In the end we’re all alone. And no one’s coming to save you.”

Jessica’s lips parted, but no words came out.

“Be happy with Peter,” he said as he brushed past.

“You don’t believe that,” she said to his back, stopping him in his tracks. “Not really.” He turned to look at her. “Because if you did, then you wouldn’t have let our marks bring us together. And those words haven’t changed. Right?” Setting her jaw, Jess said, “Show me your soulmark, and I’ll wait for you.”

John’s heart ached. His words were still the same, and he’d looked at them, read them every day while he was overseas. The words that reminded him every day where he was supposed to be.

But they didn’t mean what they meant before. Wordlessly, he met Jessica’s hopeful gaze, memorizing her eyes, the way her hair framed her face.

Swallowing, she nodded. “That would take some courage, wouldn’t it?” she said, before she turned and walked away.

When John was sure Jess was gone, he put his hand over his heart where the words were still inked. He lingered there for a moment, before he blinked the tears from his eyes and left.

~

_“Be happy with Grace.”_

John blinked. He’d been lost in thought again. He took another swig of his drink. _Peter._ Jessica had moved on and married Peter. And then Peter had killed her, because her soulmark hadn’t changed. Her words were still John’s. Their marks had matched until she died. Until he’d lost her.

And now he’d lost Harold.

He should have known it was too good to be true. He should have known as soon as he set eyes on Grace. Of course Harold’s soulmate was someone as wonderful and warm as Grace. John knew he would never be able to fill that void. He would always be a consolation prize.

John took another drink. The bottle was almost empty. He’d need more booze if he was going to drink Harold’s memory away. Maybe this time he’d drink himself to death, like he’d wanted. Like Harold had stopped him from doing.

Stumbling to his feet, John grabbed his keys and headed for the door. The liquor store wasn’t far, and his last paycheck from Harold would buy a lot. The high end stuff, too. But when he opened the door to leave, Harold was standing in his way.

“What are you doing here?”

Harold assessed John’s sorry state. “Keeping you from getting yourself killed, apparently.”

John pushed past Harold into the street as the door swung shut behind him. “I told you, you should go be with Grace.”

Harold limped after him, struggling to keep up. His breath fogged in the night air. “And I told you, I can’t, not without putting her life at risk.

John downed the last of his whiskey and chucked the bottle aside. “She’s your soulmate. You’re meant to be together. Figure it out.”

Harold hopped a few steps to put himself in John’s path. “I told you, the place where Grace’s words to me were tattooed is _blank_. It has been for a while now.”

“Even though she’s still alive?”

Pursing his lips, Harold rolled up his sleeve, on the arm opposite of the one with John’s words on it. “Look, John. There’s nothing there. You are my soulmate.”

John swallowed. “Harold…”

“And I know you think that because I still care for her and I still love her that I can’t love you-”

“Harold.”

“But I know that you can love more than one person, because I love you, John, and no mysterious, magical tattoo can-”

“Harold, _look!_ ”

John’s shout snapped Harold out of his tangent. Harold looked down. He gasped when he saw that the space that had been blank for years, was now marked. A new sentence had appeared in what looked like Grace’s handwriting, surrounded by watercolor flowers.

Harold stared, his mouth agape, as he touched the skin gingerly, as if to check that the words were truly there.

Meanwhile, John felt his heart grow heavy. “I told you, Harold. You belong with her.”

Shaking his head, Harold rushed to roll up his other sleeve. He laughed breathlessly when he saw John’s writing, still emblazoned where they should be, surrounded by a constellation of freckles connected by dotted lines. He held out his arms for John to see.

John stepped forward, reaching out but not quite touching. “How…?”

“More than one soulmate,” Harold breathed, “It can happen, and it does, quite frequently.”

“I know, but how is it _back_?”

Harold swallowed. “It might not be. It looks like hers, but what… what if it isn’t? I can’t bear the thought, oh, John-”

John put his hands on Harold’s shoulders. “There’s only one way to find out.

Harold studied the words on his wrists, a matching pair, two sides of the same coin. “Nathan always said I should get out more,” he murmured, “He said I was too involved in my work. Told me to pay attention to my soulmark, make sure I didn’t miss the words when someone finally said them.” Harold chuckled to himself shakily. “I wonder what he would say if he could see me now.”

“I didn’t know him,” John admitted, “but I think he’d probably say that you shouldn’t pass this up.”

Harold opened his mouth to speak, but he was cut off, by a payphone ringing down the street.

The both looked towards it. It continued to ring, loud and out of place in the quiet night.

Harold's arms dropped, and he rolled his sleeves back up.

“Are you going to answer?” John asked.

“The Machine is my creation,” Harold asserted, “This is my duty. Someone needs help, and nothing can stand in the way of that.”

John stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Not even your soulmark? Not even Grace?”

Harold’s face was blank. “I’ve never let it stop me before.”

~

Too late, John realized that Caroline Turing was not who she said she was. By the time he figured it out, Alicia Corwin was already dead, and Harold was gone. Left to his own devices, John ended up back at the library with a list of words and stacks of books, and no soulmate to guide him. 

John was clever enough to recognize a code when he saw it, and it didn’t take him long to decipher the message system Harold had programmed into his Machine. He followed the paper trail and tracked down Leon Tao, only to realize that Leon had nothing to do with where Harold had been taken. He pawned his hapless number off on Carter before resuming his search for Harold. But if John was being honest with himself, he wasn’t sure what to do next. The Machine had tried to get him to pick up where they left off, but without Harold- 

Suddenly, John had an epiphany. _Pick up where they left off._ John hailed a cab, pondering his next move. He wasn’t sure where to start looking for Harold, but he knew what he needed to do first. 

When John arrived at the brownstone, he had a frightening thought. If Root knew that Harold built the Machine, then she probably knew everything else. She probably knew about Grace. 

Heart in his throat, John rushed up the steps, pounding on the door. If anything happened to Harold, John would never forgive himself, but if anything happened to _Grace_ …

The door swung open, and there she was, looking befuddled at seeing him again.

John breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank god you’re safe,” he said, “Listen, I don’t have a lot of time, but I had to see you. I wasn't totally honest before.” He paused. “Okay, I wasn't honest at all. I knocked on your door because… I know Harold. He’s… a friend. And I’ll probably get in trouble for doing this, but I have to tell you the truth.”

Grace watched him for a moment, and he worried that she’d slam the door in his face, until she said, “Come inside. Tell me everything.”

_END PART 1_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a mandatory rest stop. Take a break, rest yours eyes. Grab a snack and some water!


	2. Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Make sure you don't miss the epilogue under the art!

Grace made tea for them first, before John had explained anything. She didn’t know what else to do, but it helped. Holding the cup in her hands stopped her from fidgeting, and it seemed to break the ice.

“You like black tea?” John asked, taking a sip.

“I usually take it sweeter than most people like it, but it reminds me of home.”

John smiled at her gently. “Harold prefers green tea, but I’m happy with coffee.”

Grace swallowed, setting her cup in her lap. “So… you were a friend of Harold’s?”

John’s face grew dark. “Something like that. Listen, Grace…” He moved to the edge of his seat to be closer to her. “There are things that you don’t know. Things that, if I tell you, I can’t take back.”

“You’re kind of scaring me,” she said with a nervous chuckle.

The look on his face when she said that made her heart ache. Because she wasn’t scared of him, not really. Yes, he was bigger and stronger than her, but deep down, she knew he didn’t want to hurt her. 

Scooting forward, she closed the gap between them and put her hand on his knee. “You’ve made it this far,” she encouraged.

He nodded, looking a little lost. After a long moment, he finally spoke. “Harold built a Machine, to stop bad things from happening. It gave him a list. People who were about to be involved in very bad situations.”

Grace studied John’s expression. He looked distant, like he was recalling a memory of someone special. She wondered, briefly, if he was using Harold’s words instead of his own.

“Most of them have no idea that anything’s about to happen to them,” John continued, “We never know if they were victims or perpetrators, just that they were involved. Our job was to find out what was going to happen and stop it before innocent people got hurt.”

Grace shifted in her seat. “That sounds like something Harold would do,” she admitted, “I’m just… surprised he never told me about it.”

John swallowed, gazing down into his cup of tea. “That’s because, uh… shit.”

She was surprised to hear him swear. He scratched the back of his neck, suddenly full of nervous energy. “Because what?” she prompted.

He met her gaze. “Because he’s… he’s still alive.”

Time seemed to slow. Harold was alive? John might have been lying, but she believed him. She _wanted_ to believe him. He seemed sincere. But then she remembered how easily he lied about being a detective before.

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, John sighed. “I can’t prove it. I… maybe I’d bring him here if I could, but…” His eyes got kind of wide, and he stood with abrupt purpose. “The magazines,” he said, looking around. He practically dove for the old copy of _The Boroughs_ sitting on her coffee table. “It’s how I found you.” He pointed to the fish on the cover that she had drawn. “I saw this on the side of a truck, delivering the copies to your house. Harold had the same one sitting on his desk.”

Tears springing to her eyes, Grace took a shaky breath. “He did?”

John nodded. “Right next to his cup of sencha green tea, from that coffee stand out there.” He looked out the window towards the plaza. “He kept watching over you, Grace. Even if he couldn’t be here in person.” He paused, watching Grace carefully. “The ferry bombing that injured him, and took him away from you, was an attempt on his life.”

She remembered it all so clearly, so vividly, so painfully. She wanted to ask why, but her voice was nowhere to be found. John seemed to sense this, and he carried on.

“The Machine he built is very powerful, and a lot of very bad people want to use it for their own gain.” His lips were pressed in a thin line. “One of those people kidnapped him. I’m trying to find her, but Harold’s creation put him in danger.”

Grace felt her heart break all over again. It was hard enough, coming to terms with the fact that he was alive. Hearing that he’d been taken was like losing him all over again.

“Harold’s Machine helps a lot of people,” John said, “but no without great cost to his own happiness. When those people tried to kill him, he knew that he couldn’t stay. Otherwise, he risked putting you in danger, too.”

“His body was never found,” she said. It was the first thing that came to mind. “There were missing among the dead, and I always hoped… just a tiny bit, that he was out there somewhere.”

John studied her for a moment. “... You’re not angry.”

Grace sighed. “At him? No. I… I think I understand. Harold always had his secrets. This… actually explains a lot.” She looked up to meet his gaze. “But at the people who took him from me? I’m furious.” 

She thought she saw John hiding a smirk behind his hand. “I know the feeling,” he said, “But listen. I’m going to do everything in my power to get him back. For both of us.”

He moved like he was preparing to leave. Grace stood to stop him. “Wait, why tell me all this now?”

John froze. He looked a bit guilty, like he’d said something he shouldn’t have. He may have been quite a bit taller than her, but she had no problem looking him square in the eye. 

“John, what are you not telling me?”

John seemed to shrink. He looked down at the floor, and for a brief moment, Grace wanted to hug him. All at once, he was the portrait of loneliness, a little lost and uncertain.

“When Harold left… his soulmark faded,” he explained, speaking carefully, “And then… well, long story short, he got it back.”

He sounded so unsure, so hesitant, that she didn’t understand at first. When his words sand in. She touched her waist again, where the mark of his words had remained through the years.

“Faded…” she echoed, “Mine… never went away. I often wondered what it meant, but I just assumed that Harold was just… the one. Even though I sometimes hoped it meant he was alive.” She looked to John again, searching his face. “But his mark was gone? Is it the same now as it was before?” Swallowing the lump in her throat, she asked, “Why did it fade in the first place?”

John stiffened. She could practically feel the tension coming off of him in waves. His face told her nothing, except that he didn’t like the answer, and that she probably wouldn’t either.

“All we know for sure is that we discovered it just before he was taken,” he said finally. Stepping closer, he reached out as if to touch her, his hand hovering in midair. “He doesn’t know I’m here. He’ll probably be upset with me. But… you deserved to know.” His hand landed lightly on her shoulder. Softly, he added, “I wanted you to know.”

She smiled, putting her hand on top of his. “Thank you, John.”

He smiled back, his breath catching in his throat.

“Now let’s go bring him home.”

Grace grabbed her purse and walked out the door of her home. John was a few footsteps behind.

“Wait,” he said, jogging to catch up, “You’re not coming with me.”

She tilted her head at him. “If everything you just told me is true, then I have every right to be looking for him. Maybe the only right.”

John looked stricken, and suddenly she wanted to take the words and cram them back down her throat, even if she wasn’t quite sure why.

Setting his jaw, he blocked her path. “Even if I knew where to start looking, which I don’t, there’s no way that I’d even consider taking you with me. It’s dangerous, and Harold will have my head for even talking to you.”

“Harold can deal with me first,” she asserted, “I appreciate you telling me.” Unable to stop herself, she cupped his face in her hand. “Please, John. Let me help save the man I love.”

John leaned into her touch briefly, his eyes fluttering shut. She wondered what he’d been through to look so _starved_. She wanted to undo all the hurt that he had endured, to erase whatever it was that made him feel that alone.

When he opened his eyes again, he nodded. “I… I could use a fresh perspective,” he said hoarsely.

Clearing her throat, Grace stuffed her hand in her pocket. “So, where do we start?”

John rolled his eyes at something skyward. “I had hoped that his machine would be more useful, but apparently, he programmed in certain… safeguards.”

Grace noticed the security camera above them that he must have been referring to. She pointed at it. “His machine? It can see us?” John nodded. “It can hear me?”

“Anywhere in the city.”

She considered this for a moment, before she nodded and squared off with the camera, stepping towards it and looking into the lens. “You listen to me, you hunk of metal. John says that Harold built you, created you. And if that’s true, then that means one of two things. Either you have to be at least a little bit good, because he is good, or you know how important he is to me. And if one of those things is true then that means… that means you have to help me. Because if you don’t…” Her lower lip trembled. “If you don’t, that means that Harold wasted his life on a machine that doesn’t help people when it matters the most. Please. Help me help him.”

She felt John watching her, but she didn’t break eye contact with the camera. She had only a vague idea of what Harold’s creation was capable of, but she knew its purpose- saving people. And if anybody needed saving, it was him.

Down the street, a payphone started to ring. They both looked towards it. John went to answer .She stared as he picked up the receiver, and listened to something on the other end. He took out a notepad and wrote something down before hanging up.

When he returned to her, there was a slight smile playing on his lips. “Looks like your speech did the trick. We’ve got something.”

Grace felt warmth blooming in her chest. She knew it was mostly to do with their new lead, but not entirely.

~

“I don’t know how Harold would feel about me bringing you here,” John muttered as he unlocked the sliding gate to let them in.

“Honestly?” Grace replied, taking in her surroundings, “He’ll probably rip you a new one.” She put a reassuring hand on John’s shoulder. “But don’t worry. I’ve got your back.”

John could still feel the heat of Grace’s hand well after she stepped away from him. He watched her looking around, fascinated. The way she gently brushed her fingers over the spines of the books. The way the sunlight made her hair shine. The smile on her parted lips. John could definitely see what Harold saw in her.

Berating himself, John turned his back on Grace. He shouldn’t be thinking like that _at all_. Especially when Harold wasn’t there.

John busied himself with finding the Machine’s latest number, which would hopefully help them find Harold. He was glad he’d had previous experience with the Machine when finding Leon. He didn’t want to keep Grace waiting.

Although, she didn’t seem to mind. She was totally engrossed in studying the library. He imagined it was strange for her, seeing the place where Harold had been hiding. She’d picked up an empty cup of Harold’s tea, and John thought he glimpsed a tear in the corner of her eye. 

“Ahem.” Grace looked up, and he continued, “I’ve got our next lead. This process is, uh… kind of new to me. But I think I can get us headed in the right direction.” Plugging the number into Harold’s system, John waited anxiously for the results. “He’s… well, you must know how smart he is.”

Grace nodded, smiling fondly. “It always blew me away. I’ve always been artistically inclined, but the way he could work with numbers.. It was almost like art, in its own way.”

John smiled back. “I know exactly what you mean.”

The computer finished processing, producing a file with a picture of a young girl.

Grace tilted her head. “Is that her?” she asked, “The woman who took Harold?” John nodded. “Do you know where she’s going?”

John scrolled through the first few pages. “No, but I think I know where she’s from. Pack your bags. We’re going to Texas.”

~

John seemed like a tense person. Grace could tell by the way he carried himself- he was vigilant, assessing new areas for dangers and threats. Harold’s absence probably didn’t help, but Grace imagined that John was alert and on guard under normal circumstances.

But when they entered the airport, John’s anxiety increased tenfold. They stopped in the entrance. At first, Grace thought he was simply looking for the right airline, but then she saw the stricken look on his face. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides.

“Hey,” she said, putting a hand on his shoulder, “You okay?”

He nodded, but his eyes were wide and unfocused. He swallowed. “I, uh… I lost someone. And… the last time I saw them, I was flying out…”

Nodding, she slid her hand down to intertwine her fingers with his. “I’m sorry.”

Finally, he looked at her. “Thanks.”

“Come on,” she said, smiling at him gently, “We’ll catch this flight together.”

John followed her uncertainly, but he followed. Grace was grateful for that. He supplied answers for the clerks when needed and they got their tickets. But every time they were separated, through security and baggage check, Grace would find him and reach for his hand, in an effort to keep him grounded.

“I’ve always liked how many windows there are,” she said as they walked, looking for their gate. It was early- or late, she couldn’t remember how long she’d been awake, she just knew it was dark out. Regrettably, the next flight to Dallas was more than an hour away, but Grace wasn’t about to let John just silently suffer through it. “The blue of the sky really complements the blue of the carpet… oh! The seats are International Klein Blue! Which would be more suited to the international terminal, especially seeing as Yves Klein was French.”

John blinked. And at long last, he smiled. “Who?”

Grace smiled back. _Perfect._ If she could keep him distracted with a lecture about art history, she’d talk about the color blue for hours. And that’s exactly what she planned to do.

“Yves Klein, the inventor of IKB, that shade of blue. It’s actually quite interesting, because that color didn’t even _exist_ before 1960…”

~

John had been grateful for Grace’s cheerful banter. For someone who had been through so much in the past 24 hours, she had been surprisingly bubbly. She’d gone on to tell him about color theory and complementary colors, and she’d complained about the lack of orange accents in the terminal that would have brightened up the place, and she could have been an interior designer if she didn’t like drawing living subjects so much.

By the time they boarded, she’d worn herself out, and she was asleep before they’d even taken off. He would miss the sound of her voice while they were in the air, and her casual, grounding touches, but he was glad she was getting some rest. John knew he wouldn’t be sleeping. Not until Harold was safe and sound.

The thought made his heart twist. What would happen when they were finally reunited? John had gotten Grace involved. Bringing her up to speed changed everything, and he hadn’t even told her about his own soulmark linking him to Harold. He wondered if, when Grace and Harold were together again, his mark would fade.

John closed his eyes. He couldn’t go there. Even if the possibility was real, dwelling on it would only make this harder than it already was.

John thought back to Jess, and her words to him the last time he’d seen her. “I think the truth is that it was easier for you to be alone.” And she was right. He didn’t like it- it was lonely, obviously, and dark- but it was easy. When he was alone, he never harbored any fear of rejection or loss. He couldn’t feel empty when happiness was inevitably ripped away if he didn’t hold onto it.

Harold had made him happy, and like a fool, John had let himself reach out for it. He’d let Harold fill his emptiness with light. And now Harold was gone. Kidnapped. Even if they managed to rescue Harold from Root, he belonged with Grace anyway. John couldn’t win. 

John looked over at Grace’s sleeping form. She was stunning, even asleep, and brighter than anything else in John’s life. He felt lucky just to be near her, to be touched by her. He couldn’t even fathom being lucky enough to love her, to live with her, wake up next to her.

He felt another pang as he got a glimpse of the life he wanted- the life he would never have. Even though Harold had two marks, Grace’s mark had never faded, cementing the fact that Grace and Harold were meant for each other. Leaving John out in the cold. 

Wiping his eyes, John returned to looking out the plane window at the sun starting to light up the clouds. Being alone was easy, he reminded himself. Being left behind, however, he wasn’t sure how he was going to manage.

~

The drive to Bishop was pretty, Grace had to admit. It reminded her of when her dad had taken her on a trip, to make up for something hurtful he had done when he was drunk. It was simultaneously bittersweet and nostalgic. Thinking of her broken family made her sad, so she turned her attention elsewhere.

Grace studied John while he was focused on the road. He was what she might call devastatingly handsome, in a way different from Harold. She thought Harold was gorgeous in his own way, but John was all silver and darkness, with hard edges and long lines. Her hand itched to draw him.

So she took out her sketchbook and started sketching.

John looked over at her curiously. “Isn’t it hard to draw in a moving car?”

Grace giggled. “A little, but I rarely get such a good opportunity to draw people in profile. They’re usually on their phones or something.”

Smiling, he replied, “Well, I’m not going anywhere for the next few hours.”

It was odd, Grace thought to herself, seeing that side of him. She knew he had the capacity to be kind from her first encounter with him. He was also incredibly skilled at whatever it was he did when he was working for Harold. But it was strange to see him teasing, bordering on flirtatious.

“Harold was easy to draw,” she said, thinking back on their nights together. “He was always glued to the computer for hours at a time. His lips would move, he would mutter numbers and things. But otherwise, he was the perfect subject.”

John smiled at the image. “Yeah, I’m familiar. And when he’s really engrossed in his work, he’ll reach for his tea and accidentally grab his pencil cup?”

Grace burst out laughing. “Yeah! And he’d go to put it to his lips and almost poke his eye out! Except-”

“It hits his glasses instead?”

They both laughed about it for a few minutes, Grace doing her best imitation of a flustered Harold, and John actually, genuinely smiling for the first time Grace had ever seen. It was beautiful.

When their laughter subsided, Grace looked back to her drawing of John. “For a while, these drawings were the only thing I had left of him. I took to painting old photos of him.”

John glanced at her. “Did it hurt?”

She shrugged. “Yes and no. It hurt that he was gone, but… drawing him again made me feel like he wasn’t. Like he was still there.”

“I can understand that,” John said, nodding. “It’s been strange, not having his voice in my ear.” He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “It feels like a piece of me is missing. Like there’s an empty hole where his voice should be, where he should be.”

Grace studied him, seeing the faraway look in his eyes. “Can I ask you something?”

She didn’t miss the slight hitch of his shoulders, but his voice was nonchalant as he teased, “Sure, but I can’t promise I’ll answer.”

She smiled in a way she hoped was reassuring. “You said Harold was your friend, but… the way you talk about him, and the lengths you’re going to get him back… it seems like he might be more than that.”

John paused for a long moment. His eyes never left the road. Finally, he answered, “I don’t have a lot of friends,” he said, “Just the one, in fact. Maybe two.” His lips quirked. “But he gave me a job, and a purpose.” His gaze softened. “He saved my life.”

It was the most honest she had seen him in their time together. She chanced putting a comforting hand on his leg. He glanced over, but didn’t flinch. She left it there, her thumb stroking the fabric of his pants. “I can tell you really care about him.”

He smiled, slightly. Grace thought she saw his lips move like he was going to speak, but all he did was put a hand over hers for a moment. She didn’t think he’d tell her what he was thinking if she asked, anyway.

~

“You know,” John said when they arrived at the Bishop sheriff’s office, “You can sit this one out.”

Grace immediately shook her head. “No way. Harold needs my help. So, what do you need me to do?”

Sighing, John glanced towards the building. “I wish we had more time to case the place, find out their routines, but at the moment… do you think you can provide a distraction?”

“A distraction.”

“Keep the sheriff occupied long enough for me to get inside and get the file on the Hanna Frey case.”

Setting her jaw, Grace grabbed her purse and reached for the door handle. “Got it.”

John stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Hold on.” He studied her for a moment- her determined expression and the purpose in her posture. “I’ve had a lot of practice pretending to be someone else. It helps if you can draw on your own experiences, but it can be hard to do on the fly. Are you sure you’re up for this?”

Grace smiled at him, and something in his chest loosened. “Who hasn’t taken an improv class in college?” she joked. Looking back towards the building, her smile faded. Another patrol car went by, and she asked, “How are you going to get in?”

At that moment, a package delivery truck pulled up, and John smirked. “I’m sure I can think of something.”

So there they were, back in the car with the Hanna Fry case file in hand. Grace had performed impeccably, with a wild story about being assaulted by a wild animal. It had bought them enough time to get the file, but didn’t leave Grace stuck filling out paperwork. John had posed as a mailman and charmed the receptionist before feigning a need for the restroom in order to slip into the back.

“Did I mishear,” John began when they were together again, “or did you say something about a _goose_?”

Grace giggled, brushing the hair out of her face. “I had to think of something, and the longer I went on, the weirder it got. I think an officer is going to end up in the park, expecting a goose in a trench coat and a fedora.”

She laughed, beaming at him, and he felt it again- the loosening in his chest of something tangled coming undone. “You could be an actor.”

“So could you.”

It was like he’d been doused in cold water. He remembered his stolen badge, his fake identity, his fake everything. “Listen,” he said, placing his hands at ten and two on the steering wheel, “About the whole Detective Stills thing-”

She started to wave him off. “No, it’s fine, really.”

“No,” he insisted, and she looked up at him. Those pale green eyes, like polished jade, made it almost impossible for him to continue, but he did. “I need to say this. I lie because it’s safe. Safe for us, safe for the people we help. And I was trying to keep you safe, from everything that Harold and I do. But you… you deserve the truth, and nothing but.”

He was about to tell her the truth, the whole truth, about him and Harold, and maybe even about how he felt whenever she looked at him. But then she put a hand on his and said, “Thank you, John. Truly. Now let’s get into this file and find Harold.”

Swallowing, he nodded. Right. They had to find Harold so she could be with him. Only him.

~

Back at the hotel, Grace couldn’t sleep. They’d ended up stuck on their last lead, a bank account in Hanna’s name. They’d exhausted everything else- the librarian who had last seen her alive, the man her father had gone after for revenge- with no progress. Even John had called it a night after staring at the bank statements for another hour. All was dark and quiet.

But Grace was still awake, laying in bed staring at the ceiling. She couldn’t stop thinking about how sad the librarian had looked, about how angry Hanna’s father still was. Grace had provided what comfort she could, but she knew it wasn’t enough. Empty platitudes only made so much difference.

After trying and failing to rest for a while, she sighed. “John?”

She wasn’t sure he’d be awake, although her voice sounded so loud in the still blackness, she was sure he would be now. But he sounded fully conscious when he replied, “Yes, Grace?”

“... How do you do it?”

“Do what?”

“This. Investigate all these terrible things people do all the time. I know you stop a lot of it, but… it can’t be easy. Can it?”

Grace could see the vague outline of John sitting up in the dark. He looked towards the mirror on the wall, where they’d hung their collected evidence for study.

“There’s a certain distance,” he said, “You don’t get to know these people. You help them and move forward. No string attached.”

“But it’s still horrible,” she said, crumpling the blanket in her hands. “All the bad in the world. Things that happened before you were there to help. Things that happen everywhere else.”

There was a long silence as John considered this. “You’re right,” he answered, finally, ‘There is a lot of bad. But you have to do what good you can, and you hope that it’s enough. Maybe it doesn’t make a difference in the long run. But it makes all the difference to that one person. And to that person’s family, and their friends. And it makes a difference to all the other people that might have been hurt otherwise.”

Grace tilted her head, her hair rustling as it brushed against the pillowcase. “Like the butterfly effect.”

“Exactly.”

They sat in silence for a little bit longer. John’s words had made her feel better, but she was still restless. “I can’t sleep.”

Grace could imagine him blinking at her in that slow way, taking in her words. “I’m sorry.”

“Could you… come up here? On the bed with me?”

She could practically feel him tensing up from across the room. “... I don’t think I should.”

She admired his well-intended awkwardness. And if she was being honest with herself, maybe her intentions weren’t entirely innocent. But in the slightly muggy darkness, in the middle of Bishop, it hardly felt like something indecent. She just wanted the comfort of the presence of another person.

“Please, John?” Just for a little bit, on top of the covers. I… I think it would help.”

Grace wasn’t certain he would, but then she heard the slight creak of the floor, and felt the sink of the mattress as he rested his weight on it. The bed shifted and shook as he settled next to her. Then it was quiet again. 

After a moment, she broke the silence. “I got used to sleeping alone,” she murmured, “after Harold… went away. It was hard at first. I spent a lot of sleepless nights up painting. But I felt his absence, like you miss his voice. I felt that empty space, almost as much as I felt his presence when he was there.”

John scooted closer, enough that she could feel his warmth next to her. It was almost too much, with the warm breeze blowing in through the window, but she appreciated it anyway.

“I felt his physical absence as much as I felt it everywhere else,” she continued, “Everything we did together, that I had to do on my own, all at once.”

John reached out and touched her, barely. She felt a whisper of his fingers on her skin. “I know what that’s like,” he murmured, “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

She leaned up against him. “I’d been alone before him, or at least I tried to remember that. But Harold was my partner, in everything. I struggled to get used to living without him in my corner.”

“Partner,” John echoed. There was a shift, and suddenly he was reaching for and turning on the lamp. Grace flinched away from the blinding brightness, but John was already off the bed, studying the paperwork on the wall. “Hanna was still a minor when this account was opened. She would have needed a co-signatory to authorize it.”

Grace rubbed her eyes, propping herself up on her elbow. “Co-signatory?”

“A legal adult to approve the paperwork for the bank.” He tapped the credit card statement. “We find the co-signatory…” Turning back to look at her, he finished, “We might find Hanna’s killer.”

~

It had taken the better part of the next day to follow the paper trail and put together the rest of the puzzle pieces. But eventually they’d uncovered the mystery of Hanna Frey’s death, and the true identity of Root as Hanna’s best friend Sam. They wound up back in Maryland on Harold’s trail. Fusco had led them to Denton Weeks, and the nearby home of his mistress. But it was too late when they arrived.

Grace was still looking around in the foyer as John swept the main room. She spoke when John holstered his gun. “Is Harold…?”

“Not here, but I think he was.”

She saw the body beside John. “Then who-?”

“Stay back.”

Grace stopped. John looked- not sad, but disheartened at the death of the man she could only assume was Denton Weeks. “Is this something you deal with a lot?” she asked gently.

He turned to look at her. “... Yeah, more these days than most. I imagine… Harold would want me to keep you away from it.”

She opened her mouth to express her own gratitude when John noticed something on the floor. He moved towards it, picking up the phone receiver that was next to one of Harold’s cuff links.

“Tap code, Finch?” he murmured, “Really?”

“What is it?”

“A coded message from Harold,” John explained, drawing up a quick cipher. He hadn’t used it in years, but like the rest of his training, it never really went away. “It’s a close cousin of Morse code that was used during the Vietnam War.” While he was talking, he deciphered Harold’s message- TRAIN STN. “Train station,” he breathed, already moving to leave the house. He grabbed Grace’s arm and pulled her with him. “Hurry,” he urged, “We might not be too late.”

They arrived at the train station in a whirlwind of honking horns and screeching brakes as John slammed the car into park at the curb.

“What’s the plan?” Grace asked.

John shook his head, his lips pursed tightly. “No,” he stated firmly, “Absolutely not.”

“What?”

“You stay here. I’ll go in alone, to see if Harold is inside, and if he is, _I_ will get him out.”

“But I-”

“Please,” John begged, and Grace froze. “Root is dangerous and unpredictable. She will do whatever she has to in order to get what she wants. She killed Denton Weeks. She hurts people. And I… Harold would end me if anything happened to you.”

Grace studied John carefully. She recognized the look of a desperate man, and even if he said it was Harold’s wrath he feared, she could tell that John was desperate to keep her safe.

“Okay,” she said, giving his arm a reassuring squeeze, “Okay.”

He gave her one last look, like he was trying to memorize her face, before we exited the car and vanished inside.

~

Everything in the train station happened in a blur. John saw Harold from behind a pillar, Root saw John, Root pulled a gun and Harold leapt to stop her. A gunshot rang out as Harold fell to the ground, and John felt his stomach drop. Root made a break for it, but John barely cared. He only had one priority.

In the midst of all the chaos, John rushed to Harold’s side. Harold lay prone on the ground, and John’s heart jumped into his throat. Harold blinked at him. John instructed, “Don’t move. Don’t move.”

Harold looked down at John’s hand on his torso uncertainly. “Am I hit?”

“I don’t think so,” John said, as he finished his assessment. “Sorry I took so long,” he added as he helped Harold to his feet, dusting him off. 

“I really didn’t intend for you to come and find me, Mr. Reese. There are other people that need your help.”

They started walking. “Well, you saved my life once or twice, Harold. Seemed only fair I returned the favor.”

“John!”

A familiar voice made him turn around. Grace was standing by the door, out of breath with flyaway hairs settling around her face. She’d run in after him moments before. “I heard gunshots and I-”

She froze, and John saw Harold stepping out from behind him in his periphery.

“It’s really you,” Grace breathed, her eyes shining, “You’re really back.”

John’s blood ran cold. He recognized the words- they had appeared on Harold’s skin less than a week before.

Harold staggered forward. “Grace,” he murmured. “Are you really here? I-”

Before he could finish, Grace rushed forward and embraced him. She was crying openly, and John saw Harold’s shoulders shuddering as they held each other. 

Harold reached up to cradle Grace’s head. “My Grace. I can hardly believe-” He pulled away to look in her eyes. Brushing the hair back behind her ear, he asked, “What on earth are you doing here?”

“The man I love came back from the dead,” she said, half-joking, half-sobbing. 

Harold pressed his forehead against hers. “I’m so sorry,” he murmured, “I wanted so badly to stay, but-”

“Hush, it’s okay,” Grace interrupted, leaning in for a brief kiss.

“I can’t even begin to tell you how much it hurt to leave.”

“I understand,” Grace said, “I forgive you.”

They pulled apart, smiling fondly at each other- until Grace noticed John, still hovering nearby. His eyes were wild, his fingers twitching like he wanted to reach for his gun again. The train station was still in relative chaos, a little quieter, but busy as people recovered from their panic, checked on their loved ones. Being out in the open was putting John on edge. And Grace could tell.

“Hey,” she said, pulling away from Harold and reaching for John. He looked at her- through her- as she reached up and placed her hands on either side of his face. “It’s okay,” she said, catching his gaze. His eyes focused, and his breathing started to slow. “It’s okay,” she repeated, “We’re safe. She’s gone, we saved Harold. You can breathe now.”

Slowly, John uncoiled, his jaw unclenching and his hands finally coming to rest at his sides. Grace smiled, nodding encouragingly as John finally started to relax. 

Harold cleared his throat, and they both looked towards him. “I see you two have become acquainted.”

Grace shrugged, releasing John and putting her hands on her pocket. “Kind of hard to be strangers after spending so many so many hours together.”

Pursing his lips, Harold gave John a withering look. “Yes, I’m quite curious as to how you came to be here, _together_.”

John seemed to shrink, but Grace put herself in between them. “He came to me because you were in danger,” she said, her voice firm, “Because he thought I deserved the truth, but I insisted on coming with him to your rescue. Being here is _my_ choice.”

Harold’s gaze softened and John let out the breath he’d been holding. It felt good having Grace on his side.

“How much did John tell you?”

Grace looked at John over her shoulder. “Everything? He told me about your Machine, and the work you do together.”

“Everything,” Harold echoed, glancing at John with one raised eyebrow.

“Well…” John swallowed, “Almost everything.” Rummaging in his wallet, John pulled out a key card. “The, uh… the room is still paid up for a couple days,” he said, handing the card to Harold, “I’ll let you two catch up.” 

He turned to go, but Harold’s voice stopped him. “John wait.”

John looked back, hope in his throat.

Harold seemed a little lost. His lips moved a few times silently, before he finally simply said, “Thank you.”

John forced himself to smile back, even though he felt sick. “You’re welcome. Both of you.” He cast one last look towards Grace before he left. And to his surprise, Grace was looking at him, too.

~

The trip back to New York was a long one, even longer than the trip back from Puyallup, Washington all those years ago. John tried to distract himself anyway he could, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the way Grace had looked at Harold, and the way Harold had looked at her. What he would have given to have either of them look at him that way. His heart ached as he imagined it, and remembered the way Harold had looked at him before.

But Harold had made his choice, that much was clear. John hadn’t told Grace about the soulmarks. Harold might, but he probably didn’t intend to. The last thing he’d said to John was “Thank you.” Thanks for reuniting him with Grace. Thanks for leaving them alone together. Thanks for letting Harold live out the rest of his days with his true soulmate. 

John flinched. He hoped that over time, his mark from Harold would face. He couldn’t bear the thought of seeing a reminder every day that once upon a time, Harold had been his.

He didn’t know what to expect when he got back. Surely he couldn’t possibly go back to working for Harold again. Even if Harold did continue his work with the Machine and the numbers, he would probably hire someone new. Someone with which he didn’t have such a complicated history. John expected that maybe he could keep his apartment. He expected that Harold might leave him a generous severance package, in lieu of saying goodbye.

He didn’t expect Harold and Grace to appear outside his apartment door a few days later. They were both waiting patiently on the other side of the peephole. He opened the door sheepishly, ashamed of his state of dishevelment. He hadn’t left his apartment in days, showered but unshaven. At least he’d had the wherewithal to put down his box of lo mein. 

“What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you?” Harold answered, “Grace has been worried sick.”

Laughing slightly, Grace smiled at John. “Don’t let him fool you. Harold was worried, too.”

John tried to suppress the feeling in his chest, like a bird trying to escape his rib cage. “Worried. About me?”

Harold met his gaze. “You left in quite a hurry.” 

“Sorry,” John replied automatically, feeling his face flush.

“It’s all right,” Harold assured him, “But… well, you acted as though you didn’t expect us to come back.”

Rubbing the back of his neck, John pondered his reply. He hadn’t, really. The ugly truth was that John had written them both off. He had imagined that a few nights together in the hotel, talking and reminiscing (and doing things he’d tried not to think about) would rekindle their relationship, and that would be the end of it. But instead they were there, with him.

Which he figured meant that they deserved the truth, ugly or not.

“I sort of thought,” he began, staring down at the floor, “that once you saw each other again, you’d pick up where you left off, and that would be the end of the line for us. For me.” Quietly, he added, “I didn’t think I belonged in your lives anymore.”

He couldn't quite read their expressions, but they weren’t what he expected. He’d been looking for some combination of guilt and sympathy, but Harold’s eyes were soft and bright, and Grace was smiling at him gently. 

“What am I missing here?”

“You’re right,” Harold said, “to a point.” He looked over his shoulder at Grace, and reached out to take her hand. “I hadn’t realized just how much I’d missed her until I saw her again.” Grace blushed a little as Harold continued. “She told me about your trip, and what you said to her. And we found out we had matching marks again. Grace’s never faded, but it changed, to the words I said when I saw her in the station.”

John imagined the words on Grace’s skin, the same writing and coffee rings John had seen on his own collarbone before. The worst part of his mornings was waking up and wondering if it was still there. He hadn’t had the heart to look.

“So you two still… belong together,” John concluded, “That hasn’t changed.”

“But something has,” Grace inserted. 

John could practically feel the excitement from them, and he started to feel it, too. “Are you going to tell me? Or am I supposed to guess,” John joked, starting to feel his foul mood lift. 

Harold finally smiled, before he said, “Grace has a new mark.”

“What?” John managed, his brain stuttering to a halt.

“A new mark,” Grace echoed, “with new words in new handwriting. The first words you said to me, on the day Harold was taken.” She paused. When John didn’t say anything, she added, ‘You’re my soulmate, too, John.”

The pieces clicked into place- Harold having two marks, the way John felt when he was around Grace, the way they were smiling at him now- and all of his bitterness and anxiety vanished, and for the first time in days he could breathe.

“Oh, thank god,” he said before he rushed forward and pulled Grace into a kiss. It was everything he’d imagined it would be, when he wasn’t pretending not to care about what she tasted like or how soft her lips were.

When he finally pulled away, they were both breathless. He saw Harold watching them, and stepped back, suddenly bashful. “Sorry,” he said again, “That must have been a bit awkward. For both of you.”

Grace cleared her throat, collecting herself after the intensity of the kiss, but Harold was the one who spoke. “Not really,” he replied, shaking his head, “I… Grace and I had a lot of time to talk. And while we went over the past few years, filling in the gaps, we also talked about you.”

It made John feel funny, the way Harold said it. He said it fondly, like John was more than just a soldier, more than a momentary lapse of judgement. 

“I think we both agree,” Harold continued, “that we both want you to be happy. As happy as you have made us.”

Harold reached out to take John’s hand, and John fought back the lump in his throat and the sting in his eyes. “You really mean that?” he said, his voice thick with emotion.

Grace closed the distance between them and completed the circle, taking both their hands in hers. “Harold and I both realized that it didn’t feel right without you, and… you’re a part of our lives now. We’ll be a part of yours, too, if you’ll have us.”

John nodded, unable to speak anymore. They collapsed into an embrace, a tangle of three pairs of arms, three heads on shoulders, and three souls intertwined.

_fin_

__

_Epilogue_

It turns out that Grace makes a wonderful addition to the team. While John provides a level of comfort in that he’s strong and protective, Grace carries out her work on the other side of things. She’s an excellent shoulder to cry on, and an expert in providing therapy and trauma relief services in the aftermath. She has experience, after all, and even if her own nightmare has ended, she can use her resources for the people she helps- for the people they all help, together.

It’s in the spaces in between that they build their life- on the quiet days with no numbers, after they’ve finished a day’s work, in the early morning light where they lay tangled up in the sheets. Grace likes to be in the middle, and she finds that John prefers to be the little spoon, which lends itself to Harold sleeping on his good side and taking the weight off of his injured leg. 

John wakes up one quiet morning with Harold laying on his chest. He wonders where Grace is for a moment, until he sees her sitting by the window with her sketchpad. She’s chewing on her lip like she does when she’s concentrating. He smiles at the way she scrunches her nose, and the way the sunlight hits her hair.

Grace smiles when she notices John watching her. “Don’t move,” she says, her pencil brushing over the page, “I’m not done yet.”

John hadn’t planned on moving. He’s far too comfortable with Harold nestled up against him, snoring softly. John’s desperate to see what Grace has drawn, but he knows she’ll show them when she’s ready. She’s jokingly said that her biggest flaw is always wanting to draw more. Her work is never finished, but she knows in her heart when it’s time to stop drawing.

A light breeze blows through the window, fluttering the curtains, and Harold’s hair against John’s chin. John sighs, closing his eyes. He still hasn’t gotten used to the way Grace looks at him. Harold he understands. Grace was engaged to Harold. But Grace looks at John in a way that makes him feel seen, which is the opposite of his job. So he closes his eyes and basks in the sunlight and the attention.

When Harold starts to stir some time later, John tightens his arm around Harold’s shoulders. “Good morning,” John murmurs, kissing Harold on the forehead, “Stay still, Grace is working.”

Grace chuckles, “He can get up if he wants, I’m almost finished.”

Harold hums. “Why would I want to go anywhere.”

John smiles, and shares a knowing look with Grace. Harold early in the morning is one of the many pleasures they share. All three enjoy each others’ company in equal measure. Harold’s morning sleepiness, John’s thoughtful little gifts, Grace’s undivided attention in conversation- as well as their trials and tribulations. Once they’d granted permission, John happily surrendered all the parts of himself to Grace and Harold, and they surrendered theirs to him.

Humming contentedly, John burrowed deeper into the pillows, pulling Harold closer to his chest. He would stay there as long as Grace liked, and if they were really lucky, she would show them her work before crawling back under the covers with them. 

Everyone has a soulmate. At eighteen, the first words your soulmate says to you appear, elaborately tattooed, on your skin. You spend your life listening for those words, looking for that someone. When you finally hear those words, when you find that person that connects you to the rest of the world, everything seems to fall into place. You become someone different. Someone better. John counted himself lucky. He had two. And they made him the best version of himself.

**Author's Note:**

> Link to Spotify playlist here: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5ZXYIVT0lBe2qjckXnxUT7?si=XkFgi-OwTMG9Y5HtRLWhQw  
> Pinterest board here: https://pin.it/6nkUIv4
> 
> Thank you very much for reading! An enormous thank you to the artist for the wonderful artwork and for working with me so closely to create such lovely work. Thanks to the Subway Discord server for all the sprints and support, especially when I was panicking about my writing skill (or lack thereof). Thanks to my bff for cheering me on when the going go tough. And thanks to the mods, for putting on such an awesome event that I count myself lucky to be a part of!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [more than words](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27565051) by [st_aurafina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/st_aurafina/pseuds/st_aurafina)




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